Will it be okay?
by BlueeyedIrishSherlockian
Summary: Story still in process. Johnlock/Parentlock. Rated M just to be sure. Victoria and Hamish are kidnapped by a mysterious person. Sherlock must do everything he can while John is away to save them.
1. Going Away

Going Away

"You better be safe," hissed Sherlock through their lips, "Or I will tear down all of England until you are back in my arms." He pulled away to read John's face. John had a smile on his face, chuckling at Sherlock's reaction.

"I promise you, Sherlock, I will be safe. I'm only going away for the weekend. You know I don't even like going to these Doctor Conventions. I _will_ miss you," he replied, picking up his bags and kissing Sherlock's lips quickly.

"Must I say it? You know I will miss you. I love you." His smile was true. And it _was_ getting easier to tell John his feelings with each passing day.

"I love you too, Sherlock. Promise me the kids will be safe. And _no experiments! _Mycroft said he doesn't want to come over to see his niece and nephew with an extra eye or something." He shrugged, walking to the door with Sherlock on his heels. "Oh, Lestrade will be over later tomorrow night. Something about a case."

Sherlock held the door open for him, admitting to himself he would miss his Doctor. "He has no trust in me!"-he growled as he helped John throw his bags into the cab.-"They _will _be safe. Text me when you get on the plane."

They shared one more kiss and a long hug before John sighed, getting into the cab. Sherlock watched him ride away before turning to the flat.


	2. A Strange Text

A Strange Text

Sherlock set back in his chair with a soft sigh. He had a file in his right hand and a cup of coffee in the other. He felt exhausted and strangely alone. He had just gotten back from checking on the children. They slept well. He checked his phone after hearing the tone for a text.

_Plane just landed. I am exhausted and just want to get this over with. I love you. – JHW_

_I love you too. I miss you. Lestrade came over after you left. He dropped off the files. Boring case, but I need something to do. – SHW_

_You have the children to look after, what do you mean you have nothing to do? How are the children? – JHW_

_They've been asleep after a long day with Mrs. Hudson. Victoria is already talking about missing you. Hamish is talking about you allot right now. You've been talking to them about your soldier days again. – SHW_

_It's not a bad thing, Sherlock. It gives them a view on my old life. I love you. I'm going to bed. I'll call you when I'm up in the morning. Don't forget to eat and sleep! – JHW_

_Good night, John. I love you. – SHW_

Sherlock couldn't help, but smile, staring at the gold band on his finger. They married nearly six months after Sherlock's return from hunting Moriarty's web. It took a while before John trusted him again, but he forgave him nearly that same day. Since the day Sherlock returned, both knew of the other's love. They had kissed that very night and after long years of waiting, they finally made love. It was an innocent move that turned sexual within a matter of seconds. After marrying and life slowly returned to normal, Sherlock was the one that brought up wanting to have a child. It took a year and a call from Mycroft before Hamish Sherlock Holmes-Watson was brought into their lives. He looked very much like John, but held Sherlock's observation skills. He studied everything before speaking. He was smart and often tested Sherlock and John with many questions. It was nearly four years later before Victoria Mary Holmes-Watson was brought into their lives. She looked very much like Sherlock. It wasn't the looks that was disturbing, but her understanding at such a young age. She very seldom talked and when she did, it was beyond her years of words. She observed everything, always studying.

Sherlock looked at the clock, seeing that it was close to 1 am. He could hear silence from the children's room, his old room. He hoped they were asleep and not waiting for him to go to bed before they went into the kitchen again. He set the cup of coffee down, opening the files. It was a boring case, but a case none the less. A women in her mid-30's had been murdered with no trace of evidence left on her. It seemed she had died of a heart attack, even though she smelled of alcohol. Sherlock had taken one look at the body while Mrs. Hudson was with the kids and told Lestrade that it was poison. Her son had been arrested for killing his own mother to gain his inheritance for drug purposes. _It was a boring case._ He had set the folder down when he felt his phone vibrate again.

_Tell me Sherlock Holmes, do you love your children? – [unavailable number]_


	3. Texting and Torture

Texting and Torture

When Sherlock first read the text, panic had set in. He took in a sharp, sudden breathe, forgetting of the case. _Who would text me that? John wouldn't, he knows I love the kids. Mycroft, maybe. Lestrade, no. _He went off the list of the names, turning them down as soon as they came up. Five minutes passed before he sent a text back.

_Of course I love them. Who is this? – SHW_

_If you value the lives of your children you will not question me. – [unavailable number]_

Sherlock took in a shuddering breath, continuing his pacing even faster. He considered calling John or Lestrade, letting them know someone was threating the lives of the children. He thought against it a moment later, knowing that that would only put the children in more risk.

_Fine then. I will play these games – SHW_

_Would you die for the children? – [unavailable number]_

_Of course I would. They're my children! – SHW_

_Would you kill for them? – [unavailable number]_

Sherlock stopped pacing, staring at the phone. _What kind of questions are these? Of course I would kill for them, of course I would die for them. What kind of games is he playing._ He wanted nothing more, but to call John, alert him. See if John, _his John_ was safe, but he knew better.

_Yes. I would. You're playing games with me. I want to know why. – SHW_

_You will find out soon enough. Do as I say and your children might not suffer much Sherlock Holmes. – [unavailable number]_

_Very well. You have my attention. – SHW_

Threatening to hurt his children was one of the worse things someone could do. Now rage, worry, and fear set into Sherlock. It felt like torture. He couldn't do anything to help them. He gripped one of John's priceless vases tightly, feeling it shatter. He kicked the shards away, snarling under his breath. After a few minutes, another text came through.

_Go into the children's room. Deduce for me what you can and tell me where your little children are. You always loved these little games. Let's see that you have not fallen to human emotions enough to get in the way of judgment. I would hurry, they do bleed quite fast. – [unavailable number]_

Sherlock took off and ran into the children's rooms. His eyes took in the details, his mind already moving quite fast. He made sure to comb over the room several times, not to forget a single detail before he decided it was best to text back.

_There is gravel on the floor, indicating that you stepped inside to take them. There is no force entry or signs of a struggle besides their plush toys knocked over. This means you took them in their deep sleep, straight from their beds. The window is chipped meaning you came through the window. There is no blood meaning any injury is after you took them. Deduced enough for you? – SHW_

Sherlock had to force himself out of the room. The fact that his children weren't in there, the fact that this was _his_ fault was becoming too much. He took in several sharp breathes to steady himself before he answered the reply.

_I see you have not lost your skill. Yet you are so predictable, falling to human emotions. – [unavailable number]_

_I will never lose my skill. My children, tell me how they fare. – SHW_

_Tell me, is your doctor about? – [unavailable number]_

A little relief spread through Sherlock. The stranger didn't know John was out, but it worried him still. John couldn't had made it to his destination. He ignored the thought, the worry.

_No. I want my children! I swear, if they are hurt….God will have no mercy on your soul. – SHW_

_Meet me. Thames River. 10 minutes. If you are not alone or if you are late, more harm will come to your children – [unavailable number]_

Sherlock swallowed hard, dropping the phone in his pocket. He hailed a cab passing by once he tore out of the apartment. He told the driver his destination and to ignore the speed limits. He gripped the seats, hard only hoping his children were safe.


	4. Thames River

Thames River

The vibration in his pocket alerted Sherlock more than it should have. He sat up straight, avoiding the cabbie's looks as they sped towards the river.

_Tick, tock, Sherlock, tick, tock. I don't think your children can handle much more. How would it be to tell them that their daddy couldn't make it to save them? – [unavailable number]_

_Leave them alone. It's me you want obviously. Why hurt them? My children? – SHW_

_You will see, Sherlock Holmes. Married aren't you? – [unavailable number]_

_My martial status is nothing of your concern. – SHW_

_4 minutes. – [unavailable number]_

Panic spread through Sherlock as they arrived at the river. He knew he had only a few minutes. He was out of the cab before it stopped, throwing more than enough money at the driver. He ran towards the banks, looking for any sign of anyone. "I'm here!" he yelled, his eyes still searching. He saw the figures on top of the bridge. He was about to run to them, taken his children and run when he saw the red dots appear on his coat. He felt cold blood run through him as he stood his ground. He watched as the figure dragged the small figures until they stepped into the light, setting them harshly on the ground. "You made it and with some time to spare." Jim Moriarty smiled.

Sherlock took a few steps back, seeing Jim Moriarty alive was a physical blow to him. He quickly closed his eyes, calming his heart and pulse before he dared looked at his children. They were gagged and their hands bound behind their back. Victoria's tiny body was streaked with dirt and blood. Her wrist was a deep shade of purple, indicated it could be fractured or broken. Her cheek had a deep cut on, but she seemed to be fine other than her eyes wide with fear. She was breathing through her nose and out her mouth, trying to calm herself down. Sherlock felt himself nod in approval. _Good girl, just like Papa taught you. _He turned his eyes on Hamish's rather broad body. There were bruises on his cheek, a black eye and bruises on his chest and stomach. Sherlock knew that his ribs were possibly cracked, if not broken. There was a deep gash on his arm, indicating that he could've blocked the weapon. His eyes were wide, glancing from Victoria to Sherlock. He knew what was possibly running through that brilliant mind of protecting his sister and getting to Sherlock. He seemed rather calm besides a slight tremble to his body. He turned from examining his children to look at Moriarty. "Of course I'm here," he sneered, proud of the fact that emotion as kept out of his voice, "I will _always_ be here for my children." He let his eyes cast a last look on them before returning his attention to Moriarty.

Moriarty let out a laugh, a laugh that sent chills down Sherlock's spine. _"Of course you would be,"_ he growled, pulling out two guns, one pointed to each of the children's heads. Sherlock swallowed hard, watching the guns. He felt useless now, he couldn't run to them. Moriarty would surely shoot them. "Tell me, Sherlock, how human are you to fall to these emotions? To be married to John Watson, to have children. How human of you."

Sherlock ignored the taunts, ignored the fact he wanted nothing more, but to have John's gun at his side. He wanted some sort of level over Moriarty's head, but for once he felt useless. He had nothing up his sleeve, he had to play by Moriarty's rules for now. "I am human, Jim. I have been. Emotionless, a sociopath, but I have always been human. John taught me how to feel, to have emotions. Of course, you would never get to know that feeling," he said, he said running his eyes over Moriarty. The man still looked the same, as if time never fazed him.

Moriarty smiled, playing with the guns, but still holding their aim. "I don't think I would want to, Sherlock Holmes. Now tell me, where is your Doctor?" He continued to play with the guns, not even looking at Sherlock. It was as if he was simply making conversation for simple reasons.

Sherlock sighed heavily. He let his eyes run over his children again, feeling a tremble in his body. He would play these games because as long as he did, that means his children were safe. "No, he's not. He left." He said this simply, in a strong tone. He didn't need Moriarty to know more than he would give him.

Moriarty made a sound as if upset at Sherlock before he started to pull Hamish back to him. In a matter of minutes he had both Hamish and Victoria's gag and bounds undone. The children still stood to the spots, their eyes on Sherlock. They were trembling, of course, but they didn't try to run. They could still feel the gun on the back of their neck. "Of course not. That would be too easy," he muttered as if to himself.

Hamish gritted his teeth painfully. He moved his limbs as easy as possible to ensure blood flow, but did not try to run. He knew it would mean the death of either him or Victoria. He wasn't sure as to why he was here, all that Jim Moriarty wanted to play a game. A game, that's all he kept telling Hamish and Victoria. He was in pain, he tried to ignore it, but pain was pain. He knew how to handle it. Of course Papa and Daddy taught him how since he was young. He could feel the cold metal of the gun on back of his head. He returned his eyes on his father.

Victoria rubbed her limps, feeling cold. She understood everything that was going on, no matter how Moriarty treated her just like a child. She hated it, being treated like a child. She was one, of course, but had the mind more advance then most adults. She continued the breathing pattern, doing anything to calm her down. She was afraid, of course and wanted nothing more than to return to her daddy's arms, to have Hamish's laugh in her ears, but she didn't move. She knew what would've happened if she did.

Sherlock nearly allowed a growl to escape him. He was getting frustrated. His children was in danger and Moriarty hasn't made a single advance to him, tell him a single reason why he put his children in danger. "Moriarty, what do you want from me? Why involve my children? They don't mean you any harm. It's me to you want! So take me!" he yelled angrily. He hadn't meant to show emotions.

Moriarty ran a finger through Victoria's curls. Chills were sent down the girl's spine. "What do I always want, Sherlock? A game, to play a game. You always give me entertainment. I enjoy it." He toyed with her curls, watching it twirl around his finger. "You always give me a reaction," he said simply, "A reaction I quite enjoy." He shrugged, as if it was irrelevance.

Sherlock's body tensed up. He watched Moriarty carefully, watching him toy with Victoria's hair. She wasn't trembling, but breathing heavily. Sherlock ripped his eyes from her horrified face to look at Moriarty. "You always want entertainment. Entertainment that leads to my death." His words were laced with venom, the anger consumed his body. He was trembling.

Moriarty nodded and smiled, as if talking to a child. "You are not dead, obviously. I mean if you were then I don't think these children would be here or you standing here."-the grin turned into a murderous stare-"And yet, Sherlock you always, _always _come back to my entertainment time and time again. Some sociopath!" Sherlock's gaze was moving from him to his children. He started to get bored by Sherlock's reaction. He brought the butt of the gun down on both of the children's heads rather hard. A murderous look appeared in Sherlock's eyes. _Good, very good._

Hamish gritted his teeth hard. A headache was emerging and he felt rage, deep rage now. Crap, he hasn't felt like this in years. The only other time he felt this rage was when Anderson kept calling him Freak Jr, the Freak's child. And he snapped, not with his first, but with words. Anderson kept silent for a week after that. He clenched his hands hard, making the palms bleed.

Victoria whimpered softly. She had enough. She was extremely brilliant, just like her daddy, but she was still a child. She was done with this. She wanted out. She turned to look at Moriarty, surprising both Moriarty and Sherlock. Hamish watched with his eyes wide. "Please," she said, her voice soft, "Let us go. I-I don't know what we did or what Daddy did, but…but…we are sorry…" She resorted to using less than her basic speech pattern. She hated it, but if it got Moriarty to give in, then she would do it.

Sherlock watched her, his heart beating heavily. She was trying to play Moriarty, trying to get him to agree with her. He knew in his heart it wouldn't work, if anything she was playing into his hands, playing his games. He watched with horror as Moriarty wrapped a hand around her throat, squeezing hard enough to make her sputter with the next few words.

"Do you hear that, Sherlock?" purred Moriarty, "She wants to be let go. She wants to be free. Poor little girl think she can get what she wants." His grip tightened for a split second before loosened, his hand still around her throat. He laughed, the laughter ringing in her ears.

Sherlock snarled, his body trembling again. He wanted to shoot Moriarty, to kill him. How dare he, Moriarty hurt his children. "Moriarty," he said strikingly calm, "It's me you want, not the children. You didn't intend for us to easily walk away, no that would be too easy. So why them, my children? Why bring me here if we are not intended to walk away?" It was obvious; two guns both with one bullet inside of it. And for Sherlock, seeing his children die because of him would mean the end of him.

Moriarty smiled, stroking Victoria's pale cheek with interest. He slowly turned his gaze from Victoria's pale skin to look at Sherlock. The smile staid on his lips. "I asked you Sherlock if you loved your children. I asked you if you would die for your children. You replied as any father should. Now, Sherlock, I ask that you choose one. Choose one to die, one to live. Can you do it, Sherlock Holmes? Can you choose between them?" He let the smile stay, looking into Sherlock's eyes.


	5. Hamish's Promise

Hamish's Promise

Sherlock felt the blood drain of his face. He licked his dry lips and felt his body take an unknown step towards his children, towards the impossible. He forced himself to stop when he remembered the red lasers. He took in a shuddering breath, shaking his head. His mind was racing, he had to form a sentence, had to _stop this. _"You are asking me to do the impossible, Jim. You are asking me to kill one of my children. I cannot do that!" His breath was becoming ragged. _Beg. _He hated to beg, but if it worked then damned his dignity. "Please, Moriarty. You want me, not them. Take them. Please."

Hamish felt as if he was plunged into cold water. He took in a shuddering breath. This was impossible. His father, the brilliant man he was, could _not _do the impossible. He remembered the promises he made to his fathers, the promise made when Victoria was born. He closed his eyes for a minute before meeting his father's, praying and hoping he could see the apology in his eyes. He felt himself reaching out towards Victoria, understanding what was to be done.

Moriarty's eyes flashed towards the movement. He moved quickly, slamming the butt of the gun down on Hamish's arm. A sickening crack could be heard while Hamish cried out, holding his arm towards him. Moriarty smiled, looking towards Sherlock. "Tick, tock, Sherlock," he said softly, "The pain can end, Sherlock. _Choose." _

Sherlock shook his head. This was the impossible. He had to buy time, he had to think, but for once in his life, he felt loss. He felt useless. More then ever he wished John was by his side. John would know what to do. John would be able to help him. But then, when given thought, he was glad John was away. John wouldn't have to deal with the pain, wouldn't have to understand this. He knew he couldn't protect John, he couldn't protect his children. "This is _absurd, Jim!" _he growled, loud enough for Moriarty to hear him, "I don't think you would even think of killing a child." The last words came out as a sneer, something to give him time.

Moriarty took great interest in looking at his guns before bothering to reply. "Care to rethink that, Sherlock? I have _no problem _in shooting both of them." He smiled, barking out a laugh. He watched the children's reaction. _Oh how they amused him. _Their eyes widen and the little girl actually shivered. The boy was still whimpering in pain. _Oh, how weak they were._

Sherlock would've scoffed, sneered at that statement. He didn't, he didn't allow himself. He had to keep calm, he had to think. For his children's sake. "You've changed much in your absentence," he said softly, eyeing Victoria and Hamish, "What happened to those old days? Where you had me running around to solve your damned puzzles?"

Moriarty laughed. He made a sound of disapproving, seeing how Sherlock winced at it. "Does it not bother you that one of your children-_if not both-_ are about to die, Sherlock? How will you explain this to your dear Doctor?" He shook his head, as if this was a funny fact.

_I don't know_ came to Sherlock's mind as he thought of the questions. Reply, he had to reply, to buy time. He took in a shuddering breath, taking another step close. Moriarty didn't seem to notice, didn't seem to care that Sherlock was getting closer to his children. "I will explain to him that Moriarty kidnapped them. Hurt them. And-and…" For once, he was at a loss for words. He couldn't think. He hated to feel like this, useless.

Moriarty seemed to know how weak he felt, how weak he looked. He smiled and aimed the gun to Victoria's chest. Hamish knew right then and there what he had to do. Moriarty's grip wasn't on him as hard as Victoria. He could see the fear in Victoria's eyes, hear Sherlock's cry. A split second before Moriarty pulled the trigger, Hamish wrenched his grip from Moriarty and slammed his shoulder into Victoria's chest. The trigger was pulled and the bullet lodged itself into Hamish's shoulder.


	6. Sacrifice

Sacrifice

Sherlock quickly moved to grab Victoria. She was trembling, the poor child. His eyes turned towards his son. How very much he looked like him, but acted like John. Pride grew in Sherlock's chest as he watched his son face the world's only Consulting Detective. His eyes scanned Victoria, trying to find any way out of this mess. He sighed softly, reading his daughter's eyes. "Victoria, can you stand?" When she nodded he placed her behind him, making sure she was safe. His body was tense as his eyes returned to his son.

Hamish gritted his teeth painfully as the bullet tore through skin, muscle, and tissue. He knew he would have nerve damage, but he ignored the thoughts, he ignored the danger that his mind spoke of. Only thing that mattered was killing the bastard in front of him. _"Don't-you-fucking-DARE-hurt-my-sister!" _He spoke each word carefully, ignoring the pain that spread through him rather quickly. His body trembled from it, but it didn't matter now. He grabbed the gun that lay on the ground, aiming it at the shocked man before him.

Moriarty stared at the simple child. He shook his head rather quickly, trying to rid himself of shock. This simple child had blocked the bullet, preventing him from killing the damned girl. Of course, he did, he was so much like Sherlly's damned Doctor. He stared at the wound on Hamish's shoulder, smiling. He wouldn't last long. "You're no killer, Hamish," he said, aiming his own gun at Hamish, "And you are bleeding. I think even _your_ simple mind can tell you that you have only minutes before your body goes into shock. Then what use are you then? And you couldn't possibly shoot me."

Sherlock slowly moved towards the duo. He could feel his heart beating heavily, the worry spreading through him. "Hamish," he warned, "Don't use such language! It's impolite to use such vulgar words." He stood right behind his son, looking into Moriarty's eyes. "Now give me the gun, son. Call the police for help."

Hamish gripped the gun tighter. He couldn't so simply give the gun to his father. He took in a shuddering breath, shaking his head. The gun felt glued to his hand. "I can't," he said, his voice breaking, "He-he will run. And I can't let him go after-after what he did to us. I can't let him do that to me or anyone ever again."

Sherlock gripped his son's shoulder to support the younger one, glancing at Moriarty. He pretended to be in shock, he knew it. A snarl escaped from his lips before he replied to his son. "He won't run. He _knows _I will shoot him down if he dared," he said softly in his son's ear. His son who cared more about getting revenge for the innocent and his sister then himself. It nearly hurt Sherlock to think of that. "He won't hurt anyone else. I will do it, Hamish. I will take care of him. I did it once. I can do it again." He made sure to look into Moriarty's eyes with his last statement.

Moriarty smiled, taking another step. He watched as Sherlock nearly reached towards the gun, but stopped. He knew he had a weakness for his son. "Come on, Hamish," sneered Moriarty, "Do it. Shoot me. But you can't can you? Pathetic little boy!" He spat the last few words.

Hamish jerked the gun towards Moriarty as he took another step. His heart was racing, the wound was bleeding. He could feel himself close to passing out. "Dad," he all, but whispered softly. He wasn't even sure if his father had heard him. He could feel the tear run down his face. He couldn't cry, not in front of that man. Moriarty took another step. He was almost chest level to the gun. _The trembling gun_. He couldn't hold it steady.

Sherlock wrapped his hand gently around his son. Not to pry the gun from his hands. He needed him to give it willingly, but for comfort in his son. He couldn't let him do this. This would ruin his little boy. "Hamish," he said softly, "You don't want to do this. I promise you. It would destroy you."

As if at his father's words, Hamish released the gun. He was no killer. He couldn't ever be one. He felt his father grip his uninjured shoulder and push him behind him as if for protection. Hamish grabbed the phone that was shoved in his hands. He leaned into the side of the bridge, holding Victoria to him. He looked towards his father, keeping Victoria's eyes away.

Moriarty took another step. The gun was over his heart. He smiled at Sherlock, aiming his gun towards the taller man. "Poor little Hamish. He couldn't simply shoot me. Did I not give you enough reason? Was this too much?" he sneered, turning his attention to Sherlock, "And poor Sherlly. Protecting his children. What will you do this time? Die, I can assure you no one can survive a gun to the head."

Sherlock let out a snarl, listening to his son talk to the police. He was trembling, but the gun was held easily to Moriarty's chest. "Back up," he snapped, "And stay back." He watched as Moriarty smiled at his statement and took several steps back. He knew he wouldn't run. He wanted to finish this game.

Hamish took in a shuddering breath. He felt hot and cold at the same time. He knew it was from the blood loss. He knew it was a struggle right now. He listened to his Uncle Lestrade bark orders to those around him, assuring the young Holmes he would be there very soon and to hold on. He ripped a piece off of the shirt and tied it around the wound to stop the bleeding some. He wasn't sure if it was helping.

Moriarty raised his free hand in mock. He smiled at Sherlock before looking over at the boy. "Poor pathetic Hamish. He can't even kill-but can you?" He looked to Sherlock now. "Can you kill me, Sherlock? Can you live with my blood on your hands?"

Sherlock held the gun with both hands. Half of his attention laid on Hamish who was panting heavily, the sirens in the distance, and Moriarty holding the gun. "Would you like to test that theory?" He took another step, pressing the gun to Moriarty's chest. The fact the gun pointing to him didn't matter. "Because I wouldn't mind having your blood on my hands. In fact, I would welcome it. I want this over as much as my children do!"

Moriarty's eyes narrowed. Sherlly seemed to grow more confident. He couldn't allow this. He wouldn't allow this. "You better hurry, Sherlock because it seems your little boy won't make it," he sneered, "Such a shame that would be that you must explain to your loving Doctor that your son died because of you and your mistakes."

Hamish held Victoria's sobbing form to him. He soothed her the best he could, but it was getting harder to move. The pain was too much. He was starting to see black. "Dad," he moaned softly, "Please. Kill him. Kill him and get this over with."

Sherlock glanced at his son for a mere second. Fear was in his eyes, he wouldn't last more than five minutes before passing out from blood loss. The sirens were close, closer than before. "It would make things easier, would it not?" he said, looking back at Moriarty who was watching them closely, "But that would mean we stump to his level. And I refuse to do such a thing." _Around my children, _he added in his mind.

Hamish looked towards the trees. He could see the lights. They were close. He glanced towards Moriarty. Yes, he realized they were close. He knew what was to happen. If Moriarty escaped, then this would happen all over again. They would be hurt; they would be broken once again. He tried to stand, but he felt weak. He watched as the police pulled up, Lestrade running out of the car before it even parked.

Lestrade watched the scene before him, analyzing it the best he could. He looked towards the young boy and girl. They were hurt, badly. Sherlock's back was to them, gun pointed towards James Moriarty. He felt his heart drop at the sight of the deadly man. Sherlock had told him on the day he returned that Moriarty was dead-_he was supposed to be dead! _He shook the thoughts from his mind, looking to the Holmes Children. "Lestrade," said Sherlock simply as if they were having a normal conversation, "Please do get my children out of here. They have seen enough."

Hamish slowly mustered up the energy to stand up. He gripped Victoria's hand as he slowly made his way to Lestrade. He hated to turn his back on Moriarty, but he trusted his father with his life. He ignored the way Moriarty stared at him as he gently pushed Victoria towards Lestrade. The elder detective wrapped his arm around Victoria and pulled Hamish gently towards him.

Moriarty took several steps towards the children. He couldn't let Sherlly get away with this so easy. The police wouldn't matter. Half of them were on his side anyway. He stopped when he felt the gun placed to his chest and heard Sherlock's warning. Oh how the young one loved to play these games, how he thought he could possibly win. He looked at the young detective, studying his eyes. He had so much weakness now, fear. He almost laughed with glee. He raised the gun passed Sherlock and quickly pulled the trigger.

It all happened too quickly for Lestrade to understand. He heard the gunshot go off and next thing he knew, he saw his men were shooting down James Moriarty and Sherlock laid on the ground, clutching his stomach. He quickly moved towards the fallen man's side, gripping Sherlock's bloodied hand. He placed as much pressure as he dared over the wound. Sherlock looked up at Lestrade, reading the older man quickly. "Don't you dare die, Sherlock," he said through sudden tears, "Don't you dare die after all you've done for your family!" He was pushed out of the way as EMTs got to Sherlock. He leaned into the tire of the car, overridden by sobs. He was covered in blood, Sherlock's blood. He watched as they got Sherlock on a gurney and moved him inside a different bus. He swallowed hard, managing to stand up and pushing the other people out of the way. He had to get to the hospital, he had to get to Victoria and Hamish, he had to get to Sherlock.


	7. Aftermath

Aftermath

John took in a shuddering breath as he stared at his hands. He felt useless. "Explain to me again what happened, Greg," he said in a shaken voice. He looked over at the older detective who was running a hand through his gray hair. "I told you," he said softly, "Hamish called my cell explaining in quick detail that Moriarty had kidnapped him and Victoria."-he took in a shuddering breath-"And when I got to the scene, Sherlock and Moriarty were holding guns to each other. When I grabbed the children and led them to a bus, I heard a shot go off. I-I think Moriarty was going to shoot either at me or the children and Sherlock blocked it. Damn his noble needs." He slammed his fist into the empty chair beside him. John winced, but made no movement to stop him. Mycroft had called him, telling him a plane was waiting to take him back to London without telling him very much detail. When he arrived at the London Airport, Mycroft met him at a cab and explained everything on the way. Now the elder Holmes sat with the other two in the waiting room. It had been well past five hours since they arrived and no one of them had heard anything on either Sherlock or the children.

Lestrade took in a shuddering breath. He blamed himself. He knew it wasn't his fault, but James Moriarty was dead. That was the only good to come out of this. Victoria and Hamish were hurt and Sherlock might die. He couldn't possibly think of it as the fear gripped him. He felt the tears run down his face. He looked to John, seeing the army doctor looked nearly as lost as he felt. Of course, his children were hurt and his husband might die. None of them were going to be the same after this.

Mycroft looked down at the two slumped figures. He couldn't sit down with them, he wanted to move, to pace, but he didn't allow himself to. His eyes were closed tight as he gripped his umbrella. How stupid was he? How did he let James Moriarty get passed him? And allowed him to get to his niece and nephew? It wasn't Sherlock's fault, it wasn't Lestrade's, and he blamed himself. He sighed heavily as he gripped the umbrella even tighter and looked towards the double doors. Where the hell were any of the nurses, the doctors? They needed answers.

John slowly stood up. He felt sick, he could hardly move. He felt the pairs of eyes on him. "I don't blame either of you," he said, his voice raw from every emotion he felt, "You tried to protect my children. You tried to protect my husband. You did what you could, but we know James Moriarty as well as Sherlock. He wasn't able to evade all of this." He was trembling now. He cursed himself as the tears ran down his cheeks. He looked up as a doctor walked towards him. He tried to study the doctor for any signs of emotions, any signs of what could lie beyond those double doors, but couldn't make out any of them. "How are they? How are my husband and children?" The doctor glanced at the other two men before looking back down at his charts. "Victoria is going to be okay, she's just in a state of shock. She will heal, but I suggest you take it easy with her for a while. Hamish will live. He lost quite allot of blood. He didn't go into shock, thank God. His wound will scar over though."-he seemed uncomfortable admitting this-"You have very strong and brave children, Mr. Watson." Mycroft stepped up, gripping John's shoulder rather tightly. "Mr. Watson-Holmes, actually. They're married," he corrected the doctor, studying him for any signs of discomfort, "And my brother? How is he?" The doctor looked back down at the chart, his face fell slightly. "He's out of surgery. He lost quite allot of blood as well. He's asleep, but we won't know until he wakes up." The word _if _hung in the air. "Rooms? What rooms are they in?" asked John. He could feel himself shivering again, shaking. He needed to see them. He needed to touch them. The doctor told them the rooms; they were separated for now, Hamish and Victoria in their own room and Sherlock in his own. John found himself placidly running towards Sherlock's room.

Mycroft gripped Lestrade's arm to prevent him from running after the army doctor. "He needs to see Sherlock before the rest of us. Why don't we check on the children?" he said softly. Lestrade was numb; he would follow anyone's advice right now. He gripped Mycroft's hand in a silent reply and felt a bit shocked when the elder man allowed it to stay in his own. He would consider these options later.

Tears ran down John's face as he collapsed into a chair beside Sherlock's. He gripped his husband's cold hand, allowing a sob to rise from his chest. He watched Sherlock's chest rise and fall. He was breathing, he was asleep. He _had _to wake up. "Sherlock," whispered John softly, "Please, please wake up. You have to. You have to wake up." He was sobbing now. If Sherlock was awake, he would find this startling and almost upset as John was. "You promised me all those years ago that you wouldn't leave me. You can't leave me now. You can't leave our children now." The sobs were making it hard to breath. He didn't bother to calm down as he laid his head on Sherlock's arm. _He had to wake up, he had to. He couldn't' be without Sherlock._

Lestrade looked down at the sleeping children. Though the nurse had said that they were in separate beds, they had found Victoria and Hamish in the same bed with Hamish's arms around his little sister. Lestrade swallowed hard, finding it hard to look at the damaged children. _If only I could've stopped him, if only I had gotten there sooner, _he thought with pain in his chest. He sat down beside Mycroft, burying his face in his hands. Mycroft only laid a hand on his knee, squeezing it gently. "Look at them, Mycroft," he said in an empty voice, "They're hurt. They're damaged. Why? Because of Moriarty. This was a new low to him, but he damaged them so much. They won't be the same…"

Mycroft nodded at his words. The thoughts had ran through his mind moments before Lestrade spoke of them. "No, they won't be the same," he said finally, "But they are a strong family." He knew he spoke the truth, John and Sherlock loved their kids, much more than most parents he's seen. He could tell the other was looking at him and he sighed, knowing what was on his mind. "As for Sherlock, I do not know if he will wake up. He's taken worse damage, but it's been years, many years. He's Sherlock. He always has a plan. He'll wake up." _He just has to._

Hamish blinked several times out of the haze he was in. He could immediately tell it was from drugs in his system. It reminded him of the time he broke his arm and they had to put him to sleep because he believed it wasn't to be broken and he was worsening the damage. He could hear the beeping of an annoying machine and the shifting in his arms telling him Victoria was there. He opened his eyes, unsure of why he was in the hospital. After catching a look at Victoria and his Uncles, he remembered. He swallowed hard, licking his dry lips and looking at the two elder men. "What happened?" he said in a soft whisper, not remembering much.

Lestrade was startled to hear the boy's voice. He didn't expect him to wake up, but he supposed he did hear them talking. He looked into his blood shot eyes, knowing he would only stay awake for a few moments. "After you called, I led the both of you to a bus. They took you to a hospital and you were in surgery until a few hours ago. Victoria is going to be fine. She's just in shock and they said you will heal, but you will scar." He couldn't speak about Sherlock, it hurt him to do so.

Hamish frowned slightly. He didn't care about having a scar. That was the last thing on his mind. He was happy that his sister was going to live, but he worried. There was something they weren't telling him. "And Dad? How is he? I…heard something go off when we were put into the bus. I wasn't sure what it was." He watched as Lestrade swallowed hard and lay his head in his hands as if to give up. He looked to Mycroft, reading his hard, yet soft eyes.

Mycroft considered telling a lie to the youth, but he knew he was able to see right through that. At times, he was too much like Sherlock and it bothered him. "Your dad…" What was he to say? He won't be okay or he will, he wasn't sure. "Your dad was severely injured by Moriarty. When you were on the bus, Moriarty was to shoot at either you children or Lestrade. Regardless, he missed because your dad blocked the bullet with his own body. They say his health depends on if he wakes up or not." He could see the pain in Hamish's eyes and he swallowed hard. _Sherlock, for the sake of your children wake up._

John blinked several times at Sherlock. He was starting to wake up or that's what John thought he was doing. Every so often, he could hear the monitor beeping out of its normal rhythm and see Sherlock's eyelids twitch. John stroked his hand, whispering Sherlock's name. He knew if the other was awake that he would insist he was being stupid. John smirked to himself at this, knowing Sherlock was right. "_What's so funny?" _he heard Sherlock's voice whisper.

John's eyes flew open and looked towards the young father. He wasn't able to stop the smile or the fact he was grasping his hand tightly. "You're awake!" John breathed in a shaken voice, "Nothing's funny-I was just…" He stopped talking and shook his head. Sherlock would laugh at him, call him foolish. Yet he smiled. "I was just thinking of how foolish I was being and your usual reaction to it."

Sherlock smiled slightly at his husband, hand squeezing John's lightly. "You were being completely foolish," he said in a weak voice, "Thinking I would leave you. Do you have no trust in me?" He made an attempt to sit up, felt John's hand moving to hold him back down. He gave a heavy sigh.

John didn't move his hand from the other's chest as he met his eyes. He knew that sigh. Sherlock was restless. Not even half an hour awake and he always wanted to move. This wasn't well and he knew he'd have a hard time keeping him still enough so he wouldn't hurt himself because of the wound. "Of course I have trust in you, love. I couldn't bear the possibility of you being dead, I already had to suffer through that once. I just didn't want the children to suffer through it." He didn't realize tears were in his eyes.

Sherlock saw the tears in the other's eyes and raised his free hand to brush the tears away. He hated to see John cry, it always broke him up inside. "I wouldn't want to do that to either of you. You or the children. Seeing you hurt because of me is enough." He let out a heavy breath, stomach burning. "How are the children? Did they make it here okay? How's his shoulder?" The questions came off, fired after the other. The last thing he remembers is the bus driving off with the children.

John swallowed against the other emotions he wanted to feel. He had to make sure Sherlock was safe first. "The children will be okay, as far as I know. They'll make a full recovery. Hamish's shoulder will heal fine besides a ruddy scar like mine and Victoria was simply exhausted." He was glad Mycroft gave him the reports by text now. "The only thing we have to worry besides Hamish's physical therapy is your recovery as well. The both of you will be in the hospital for a while."

Sherlock smirked slightly. He was relieved that the children would be fine, besides some therapy. Victoria was just exhausted. He couldn't care of his injury or his brush with death. His family was safe and Moriarty was dead. That was all he could ask for.

The End.


End file.
